The milkshake.

He was trying…trying ever so hard…trying to be careful…slowly…steady… He was delicately struggling to place his drink (which was double the size of his head and far too large for him to manage with them wee, grubby mits) on the ground in front of him without spilling any so’s he could get to the hot dog which awaited his gnashing little teeth. The concentration was all over his face one minute then obscured by what appeared to be strawberry milkshake the next. Then, with his straw hanging out of his tiny, pug nose and shake splooshed all over his shirt and half his head, a roar bellowed forth from his red and pink face and the water works began.